Vandalized Dreams
by Event Horizon-Argus Black
Summary: Two chapters, finished. Ken can't help but let his mind wander.... My first yaoi-ish fic, be nice.
1. Bitter Taste

EH: First up... Warning: This contains mild euphemisms and inferred slashy  
relationships. (i.e. = Kaisuke) I was also going to use some four-letter words,  
but decided I'd clean up my act for once. PLEASE be nice in your reviews, this is  
my first fic containing ANYTHING near to an yaoi couple.  
Ken: How far will this go?  
EH: It's rated a strong PG, mild PG-13... How far DO you think I go? This is set  
right before the infamous soccer game so Ken knows who the DDs are, but they don't  
know who he is... Mmwhahaha! Also, I'm creating a few Tamachi characters. You might  
see more of them later if I get working on this one soccer story. Also... Disclaimer: Those  
three characters are the only things I own! I don't own Digimon, Rammstein, Tonic,  
or Marilyn Manson. I own time-shares in Mister Manson, but that's for another day!  
Ken: You sure are screwed up...  
Wormmon: Am I in this?  
EH: sweatdrops / Um... sure, why not?

  
  
  
  


Vandalized Dreams

Rammstein bellowed into his ears. He didn't have the greatest grasp on German; just enough to thoroughly enjoy 'Herzeleid'. He turned another page in 'Audubon's Encyclopedia of the Birds of the Western Hemisphere' trying desperately to summon a muse for his next big project. It was nearly complete, but for the final addition: wings, he wanted to be inspired. To merely copy an idea or follow the common path would be an abomination; he wanted to be true to his monster-child, as it were. The song ended, voices fading into the bass drum. His mp3 player was on random and he unconsciously hoped 'Weißes Fleisch' would be next. Instead, a soft acoustic guitar sang a song he'd rather skip. As his slender finger reached for the Next button, memory conquered his muscles and forced him to listen to the quietly pleading voice.

If you could only see the way she loves me,  
Then maybe you would understand  
Why I feel this way about our love and what I must do.  
If you could only see how blue her eyes can be when she says  
When she says she loves me.  
  


The electronic instruments flipped on and belted out the wailing refrain. His mind was on fire, trying to smother the inner embarrassment.

Well you've got your reasons  
And you've got your lies  
And you've got your manipulations  
They cut me down to size  
  


Who was the singer posing as? The black haired dominator or the auburn haired hero flinging his life around without a selfish care?

Say you love but you don't  
You keep your love but you won't  
  


He still wasn't sure. They both hid compassion from others, the fighter because he needed to be at the head of the pack, the tyrant because loving would make him lose ground to his enemies; the ones inside and outside his head.

If you could only see the way she loves me,  
Then maybe you would understand  
Why I feel this way about our love and what I must do.  
If you could only see how blue her eyes can be when she says  
When she says she loves me.  
  


That moaning guitar, those few chords of pain and anguish that followed the chorus like a mourning procession. It didn't matter if the group's intended lyrics were slightly out of place, they made him remember how much trouble he'd gotten himself into over his rival.

Lunch was always spent alone. Sure, the captain of the soccer team had friends, mainly those on the team, but he preferred to spend as much time away from people as possible. People were a disease, slowly infecting him and rotting his brain. Ha, TV had nothing on mindless middle schoolers. To further widen the gap, a pair of silver-blue headphones connected to a similarly coloured electronic device sat in his ears. The volume was loud enough to block the din and to leak past his lobes. Someone terribly angry, so out of style for the timid prodigy, was screaming filthy words and fueling his hatred. Someone like... Marilyn Manson? The child came to the realization that if the scowl on his face deepened even slightly, it wouldn't take an above average intellect to see his dark soul. He scrolled through the playlist, skipping over many truly treasured melodies to one of only five arranged without the help of multiple piercings. Well, this one wasn't so bad...

Sees the road less traveled  
Shows happiness unraveled  
And you've got to take a little dirt  
To keep what you love.  
Here's what you've got to do...  
  


Could he? Should he take a 'little dirt'? He knew what he loved - scratch that - emperors couldn't love. He knew what he desired, but would he take 'dirt' to get to it? And what kind of dirt were we talking about anyway? A regal sigh shot through his nose and he let a soft smile pass across his mouth. This was neither the time nor the place to worry about how much sacrifice must be offered to obtain his goal. Instead, a mild fantasy played at the multiplex of his mind.

Say you love but you don't  
You keep your love but you won't  
Stretching out your arms out to something that's just not there  
  


No, something was there, in the shadows of his base, waiting nervously to step into the light and into his embrace.

Saying you love where you stand  
Give your heart when you can  
  


The two soldiers tangled in a war of ragged breathing and ruffled hair. Each fighting for the honor of decoration and promotion and the reward of a humid ceasefire.

Something poked at his shoulder, tearing him away from his mental popcorn and jujubes. It was Takedachi and the rest of the forwards, come to ask if he'd seen Coach Yoshitupe; they needed the key to the equipment room. The führer's face went white, then red, resembling a certain team's uniforms. He wondered if the rest of his team would notice his temporary disability. Ukeda did. That black haired wanker was just salivating over any chance to humiliate him. If not for Davis, he'd be more than happy to put making his life a living hell on top of all other priorities. If not for Davis. Oh, if not for Davis, they wouldn't be laughing. He wouldn't be shooting flames from his eyes and praying fervently they'd all choke on their chicken nuggets. Takedachi patted him on the back and made some kind of immature remark that was supposed to calm him down. 'I always knew you were human.' At least they didn't know the reason; it would be social suicide. Slowly, the raucous group walked away and left Ken bludgeoning his bag of potato chips.

If you could only see the way she loves me,  
Then maybe you would understand  
Why I feel this way about our love and what I must do.  
If you could only see how blue her eyes can be when she says  
When she says she loves me.  
  


In his room the guitar screamed, attacking on all sides. 'Weak! Wee-eak! WE-EAK! Fool! Fo-ol! FOO-OO-OOL!!' Even the golden eagle on the page, his beak gaping, seemed to shout at him. Oh, how could he have let himself be so vulnerable? This world was breaking him down and he only saw one means of escape.

Said you love but you don't  
You keep your love but you won't  
She went  
  


There was a game this Saturday, like every Saturday. But Davis would be there this time. Close enough to touch, to smell. His mind began to swim again. How wonderful if this song were true! If he could roll over and have those beautiful, brown eyes meet his. That's what he'd do! Make this world livable by having peace here, in those dark arms. The boy would never know his dual dueling nature and he could have everything he desired. Ken rolled on to his back.

Say you love where you stand  
Give your heart when you can  
  


Crap, that wouldn't work. If Motomiya ever saw his darkly decorated room, got to truly know him and all the evil idiosyncrasies that spilled through his facade... Everything would be taken away. His empire, his pet... Better to lie cold and alone - safe - and gaze from afar. The horrible song was ending.

If you could only see the way she loves me,  
Then maybe you would understand  
Why I feel this way about our love and what I must do.  
If you could only see how blue her eyes can be when she says  
When she says she loves me.  
  


He hit the Repeat button.

  
  
  
  


EH: That's all, folks!  
Wormmon: Why wasn't I in this one? You promised me a part!  
EH: I kinda did, didn't I? Well, I'll think of a different story, then.  
Ken: Be careful what you wish for, little bug. Horizon's in the mood for another  
dark fic...  
Wormmon: gulp / I can get the drinks instead! And I can tell everyone to  
review!  
EH: See Ken, he IS useful!


	2. The Things You Don't Know

PG, eh... Guess I have to work out my euphemistic muscles...  
Ow. Did you hear that snap, too?  
  
As always, Digimon doesn't belong to me. It should, but it doesn't.  
If you enjoy light hints of Daiken or Kensuke, then continue.  
If you don't, WHY DID YOU READ THE LAST CHAPTER?!  
  
Sorry, I had to get that out of my system.  
This will be the last chapter of this story - it can't go any farther  
without me running circles around the rating!  
  
Doesn't mean I refuse to write a different Kensuke in the future... Hehehe.

  
  
  
  


Motomiya was just the tiniest bit unhappy. He'd lost a game - reason enough to be depressed, but he'd also injured another player.  
  
His hero, his idol.  
  
Surrounded by a crowd of teenage girls, Daisuke hung by the outer edge, remorse clouding his face. Ken put on a sly grin, but was dismissing them one by one.  
"Oh, Ken! You're the best! Will you autograph my arm?" Nodding, he indulged the last of them with a simple signature. The crowd slowly ebbed away, ogling their latest bits of Kenorabilia.  
"Ken?" The soft, humble voice made him turn, celebrity face on. His ever present, fake smile faded into curiosity. What did he want? "Ken, I'm sorry... you know, your leg. Sorry 'bout that." The red haired boy tried a playful grin. Daisuke started fidgeting with his thumbs under the stoic stare. His idol. His...? Oh, why did he bother? Why did he try when so many things were against him? Slowly, one side of the wunderkind's mouth curled. That was why. The je ne sais quoi that he carried with him, that spread epidemic-like to everyone he touched. Something, Daisuke was sure, glittered with hidden knowledge in the blue eyes. Irrepressible, he smiled broadly under his goggles. No wonder he attracted a swooning crowd. "So are you okay? You know, I really didn't mean to..." Ken held up one palm, silencing his parade of supplication.  
"I know you didn't. Don't worry about it, just a scratch." Obviously, it wasn't just superficial. The wound hadn't had time to coagulate properly, and blood and serum still seeped from one side. Despite the damage to his ego as well, the present smile radiated from past his public surface, somewhere closer to his soul. Closer, but not quite there. Daisuke knew this - but it was close enough. It was more than he'd expected. The stare they shared sprinkled with something intangible. Takedachi came running over, severing the visual connection.  
"Ken, some guys wanna talk to you. I told them talking to reporters is your _favourite_ thing to do..." The orange and blonde haired Left Forward couldn't stop laughing. "C'mon cap'n, they won't wait much longer!" A plastic smile couldn't cover the non-verbal threats he threw at his teammate. Reluctantly, and with another glance at Daisuke, he traveled toward the men gripping microphones.  
"Hey Motomiya, good game." Takedachi smiled as he jogged over to tug a little corner of the spotlight. "Not everyone gets to take a chunk out of our captain and keep his lungs inside his chest." Daisuke's polite smile faded in but a moment, again outside the illuminated entourage.  
He set his duffle bag on the ground, pulling out a bag of Fritos. Daisuke sighed; it was lonelier being near and watching him than completely alone. What had just happened? It was strange - in a good way - but he wasn't waiting around for a second chance to talk. Letting his heart bleed out in the meantime.  
Daisuke zipped his bag, nearly smacking himself in the head. Shit. He couldn't go home to wallow yet. His stupid Biology book was still in his locker. But he wasn't so dense as to let a whole weekend slip away while his homework lay unfinished. Maybe he wouldn't get them all right, but it was better than explaining a blank paper on Monday.  
  
"Thanks again, with any luck, we'll run this tomorrow." How he wished he could rip the tape from the recorder and strangle them both with its cord. Squeezing until the red skin turned white.  
"Sure, anytime! If there's anything else, don't hesitate to ask..." In an unveiled attempt at flight, he turned from the television men, picking up his bag and scanning the empty field. Stupid questions. All his teammates and foes had left. The goggled boy had left. Shit. At least he wouldn't have to ride the train home. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out several hundred yen. Enough for a taxi ride in relative solitude. He slogged up the stairs, lounging languidly on the bus bench despite its chill. Perking up a bit as he sighted a dot of yellow, he also remembered the start of the weekend. The start of focused conquest. He rolled his eyes to one side, face animated with fantasies of rapid takeover. C'mon taxi driver, just a little faster.  
  
"Oh... Ken...?" From his right issued a mildly surprised, soft, recognizable voice. He snapped his head up to the speaker, at a loss for words.  
"Daisuke-chan..." Chan? Where the hell had that come from? They both paused, puzzled over the suffix. Four little letters that spoke Freudian-esque of the closeness Ken desired.  
"Um... why are you still here? It's so late." Daisuke questioned. Instantly, the genius' mood soured.  
"I could ask you the same thing." He stopped his snappish retort, anger directed at himself spattering instead on the destined. "No, I'm here cause I just finished that _stupid_ interview." It was so much easier, for the time being, to be mad at the reporters than himself.  
"Oh, that bites." He sat on the bench next to the pensive figure. "I forgot my _stupid_ homework." He held up his duffle for Ken to see, bright smile on his face. When he opened his eyes, Ken still wasn't smiling. The dark haired youth sighed through his nose and rolled his eyes to the passing traffic. Who _was_ this Davis was talking to? He was sure it wasn't the Ken he - everyone - usually saw. Fame must not be all it's cracked up to be.  
Trying to jar his idol out of his doldrums, Daisuke tried again at conversation. "Headed home?" Ken turned his eyes back to Davis, 'forsaken' emanating from them. Yeah, headed home sweet home, headed... oh, what did it matter? Depression set in again, a tired friend, and he didn't even care if this was Davis sitting next to him. He just wanted to crawl in a hole and die by himself. Besides, Daisuke was only being chatty because he was like everyone else in the throngs. Fools catching a silly smile and a faraway look from the aura of celebrity. He nodded. "Waiting for the bus?" Oh, Davis, why can't you be like the Davis in my head? The one who wants me. The one who isn't outwardly afraid of the emperor and can speak volumes in silence? The postured presence that makes me weak in the knees? Who can give me one glance and make feel 'home'?  
"No, a taxi." He watched as the spiky head of hair followed a cab passing them by. He watched, waiting for him to say 'there goes one' or 'whoops, you missed that one.' But he didn't. He stared after the scarlet tail lights until they were indistinguishable from the rest. Long stretches of time passed.  
Something warm crawled over the fingers of Ken's hand, palm down on the unfeeling bench. Momentarily, he was revolted. But it wasn't some disgusting worm. It was Daisuke's fingers.. His breath caught painfully in his throat. What...?  
No. Just a mistake. Easily forgiven and forgotten...  
  
The boy from Odaiba didn't move his head or his hand, didn't take his eyes off the traffic.  
Please, please, please - Allah, Buddha, assorted spirits - whoever's up there - please don't let me make a fool of myself. Sweat started to form under Daisuke's rubber goggles. His jaw spasmed tightly - teeth grinding themselves into oblivion. Please.  
Slowly, Ken turned his hand over - palm up - entwining their fingers. It was Daisuke's turn to gasp.  
Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Ken pulled himself up from his woeful slouch, sliding closer to Davis. He remained staring at the fleeing cars, but the perceptive genius could hear his breath - tightly coming in gasps of disbelief. Terror, even. Ken could feel every nerve on his body. How could he have doubted this boy? He stood apart from the crowd, wasn't even near it. How dare he compare suke-chan to those superficial people? Where was his faith? It returned to him in a rush, and, despite the cultural tabus that applied to all Japanese, acted on it. With his free hand, he cupped the end of Daisuke's chin, turning it gently away from the city street. He grasped his lips before Davis could react, closing his eyes mechanically. Davis confused Kens' warm smile for a second while his shock - his tension - rose and ebbed, understanding the situation in all its facets. If the reticent boy could've stood up and shouted to all Tokyo, he would've - had he not been apt on holding on to Daisuke in anyway possible, when he felt the other boy's fingers, the muscles in his face, slacken, his lips moving in comfortable contact with Ken's.

  
  
  
  


Ken: Kenorabilia?  
EH: Yes. Problem with that? I'm an author, I can make up words!  
Daisuke: Sounds cool! Can I have some Kenorabilia for my collection?  
Ken: You can have a true-to-life, living, life-sized statue...  
EH: Ugh! Get a room, you two!


End file.
